What Learning Bahasa Indonesia Taught Me About Curiosity

I make mistakes. And I like it.

That sounds strange when you say it out loud. But it's the most honest description of something I've been living for the past few months — and it's taught me more about my own work than a lot of projects from recent years.

I'm learning Bahasa Indonesia. Not because I have to. I split time between Berlin and Jakarta, my partner is Indonesian, and it matters to me not to always be the guest who nods and smiles without really understanding. I use Duolingo, daily conversations, a lot of listening. I'm at the beginning — first sentences, simple phrases, sometimes the wrong word at the wrong moment.

That's exactly the point.

For fifteen years I've been telling people that mistakes aren't setbacks. That someone who makes a mistake and learns from it is further ahead than someone who never risks one. I say this in workshops. I say it in sprints. I say it to leaders who are afraid of embarrassing themselves in front of their teams. It's true. I genuinely believe it.

But I've never felt it as clearly as I do now — when I use the wrong verb form in Bahasa, someone gently corrects me, and I notice: I'm smiling. Not out of politeness. Because something in me knows: I won't forget that now.

That's the difference between knowing and experiencing.

I know the principle. I've explained it a hundred times. But as an expert in a field, you mostly move in a comfortable zone. You know what you don't know — and you navigate around it skillfully. You stay where you're good. Mistakes are rare, and when they happen, they're controlled.

A new language destroys that. You can't hide behind competence. Every sentence is an experiment. Every conversation is a sprint with an uncertain outcome. And because you know mistakes are unavoidable, your brain stops treating them as threats.

That's Beginner's Mind. And Beginner's Mind is one of the most valuable things you can bring into your work.

In innovation, we've used this concept for decades — borrowed from Zen Buddhism, adopted by Design Thinking. It means the ability to look at a problem as if you're seeing it for the first time. Without the weight of assumptions. Without the blinders of experience. With real curiosity. Sounds simple. It isn't.

What I rarely hear anyone say: how hard it is to access that when you've stopped being a real beginner.

I've been in innovation consulting for fifteen years. I know how workshops run. I recognize the patterns, the traps, the moments when a group shifts or stagnates. And that knowledge makes it harder to be genuinely curious — because I often think I already know where something is going. That's not a strength. That's a blind spot.

Bahasa dismantles that. I don't know where the sentence is going. I haven't learned the grammar rule yet. I'm genuinely confused — and when you make peace with that, it feels surprisingly alive. Like being a workshop participant again, instead of the one running it.

Here's something else that surprised me: making mistakes in Bahasa motivates me. Not in the abstract sense of knowing I'm learning. In the concrete, physical sense — I want to keep going. The mistake generates energy, not exit.

That's not automatic. Anyone who's tried learning a language as an adult knows it can go the other way. Shame is the biggest obstacle. The feeling of embarrassing yourself. The fear of seeming infantile. All of that is real — and it stops millions of people from even starting.

What helps me isn't courage. It's a conviction I've built over years: a mistake is not a failure. It's data collection. And data is good. That sounds clinical — which is exactly the point. It strips the moral weight from the mistake.

Translated to work: the teams that learn fastest aren't the ones that make the fewest mistakes. They're the teams that make mistakes visible fastest — and switch course from them fastest. That's the actual skill. Not error-free. Error-friendly. It's a cultural trait, not a talent.

I'm learning that right now. In a language I barely speak.

I'm sitting in Jakarta, say something wrong, get gently corrected — and think: this is exactly how every project should feel. That moment. That ease. That energy after the mistake, not before it.

If you're working in a context where mistakes get punished — or where you're unconsciously making sure they are — the most important question is this: what would change if mistakes were just data here?

Not failure. Data.

I'm learning that. In Bahasa.